Ch1

The world seemed void and dull. 

He gazed upon the swordsman standing before him. It was a given that this was an experienced warrior. One with many achievements too, no doubt. The focused gaze gave it away. 

The old man reminisced about a time that seemed like it was ages ago. 

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"Ha!" 

The young swordsman, perhaps around 20 years of age, pointed his sword at a brown-haired man. 

"What a confident look. You must think you stand a chance at defeating me. Well, I suppose it is the job of seniors to teach greenhorns like you respect. Let me give you a little preview of it means to be a true warrior." 

The swordsman, who had a ridiculing expression, suddenly focused his eyes and his smile seemed to fade away. 

'The pressure! This... it's so heavy!' 

But that was just the gathering of his focus. Suddenly, his eyes flashed, and his intent showed, almost palpable as if one could see the trajectory of his assault. 

A weight fell upon the brown-haired man, as if the weight of the air had suddenly tripled. The temperature dropped, as if all heat had suddenly left the vicinity. It felt like he was gazing at a massive wolf, but not just a normal wolf. This wolf was covered in blood, incomparably fit, and had a yellow gleam in its eyes, as if it were ready to fight to the last breath. 

So this is what it means to have experienced countless battles... 

He couldn't help but feel his heart palpitate in fear; his arms couldn't seem to stop twitching as if every moment and bit of his willpower was spent trying to resist the unrelenting urge to flee. 

He bit down on his lip.

This... I can't... 

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A wind seemed to sweep over the thinning grey strands of hair of the old man, as his closed eyes slowly opened, after reliving a moment in the past. 

His gaze showed slight unwillingness, but at the same time unwavering conviction in what he was to do. 

Yes, the swordsman before him was a hero. And he was to be a hero. But now was the time for the world to have a hero. 

The old man breathed out. He unsheathed his sword, holding his sword tilted, as if inspecting the pommel once more. His gaze shifted back to the young swordsman, who was now advancing. 

He breathed out. 

RRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMMM 

As if a mountain had descended from the sky, no, it was a whole mountain range. The height of the mountains seemed to reach to the heavens, but represented the sum of all the man's fights, experiences, battles, wins, losses, moments of happiness, moments of despair, emotions of revenge, and memories of what he had given up. 

It was in a single intent, that flared through his eyes, encompassing his past, present, and finally, his future as well, all in one moment. 

Mother... the word meant little to him aside from its definition.

The mountain was covered in snow. It was a given, that it would be cold. After climbing the mountain to pass the wintery wasteland, he came to realize a horrifying truth. What he had just climbed was a plateau... and miles in the distance, yet another mountain range could be seen, at least several times taller than the one he had just barely climbed. But when he looked up again, he took the first step. And he fought the urge to turn back the entire journey. 

It was a different world. He was in his room, reading a book. It was a sunny day. In fact, it was spring, and flowers were blooming outside... not that he cared about the flowers— he was allergic anyways. Suddenly, he heard a call outside his window. His friends were calling him to come outside. He didn't know why this scene was always significant in his lives. As always, he got up from his desk, putting his book down to make sure he didn't lose the page. But then he saw something: it was just a leaf. And the memory of the 600 other people ahead of him. His smile slowly dissolved, his face tensing as his lips tried to cover up the grimace that threatened to break his will. Holding back the fear of losing something he loved... 

Before, he had believed that he hadn't been able to combine his future into his sword because he was too inexperienced, or couldn't understand his future. The past represented the complete compilation of all his experiences, everything that made him what he was today. The present encompassed what he had come to now, and what his goal was in the immediate moment. His future, was supposed to represent what he would bring into reality through the present, and the present moment. It was the direction, that would guide his sword on the path onto what he knew his future would be. 

But now he knew. It was so simple all along. His future was death. Everyone's future was death. It was so obvious. But now it almost seemed like a joke. 

Regardless of this, he drove his sword forwards, with a cascade of mountains pushing him forth.